Page 63 of Formula Freedom
She lets out a soft laugh—more surprised than amused. “You’re so different from the Reid I knew.”
I move to her, closing the space between us, gently chiding her. “You know I’m not. I’m just… richer.”
“I’m sorry,” she says with a heavy sigh, folding the sweater in her hand. I take it from her and place it in the luggage. “All this wealth is just overwhelming. You know that’s not how we grew up and to suddenly see you so settled within it, it’s a little jarring.”
My brows furrow. “Do you think it changed me?”
Lara startles, adamantly shaking her head. “No, of course not. You’re still the same Reid who steals my chips when I’m not looking. I bet you still have the same playlist on your phone that you made in high school.”
She’s not wrong about that and I’m relieved that my wealth doesn’t seem to be a deal-breaker because I’d give it all away before I let her go.
“If you want to fly commercial,” I offer, “we can. We’ll have a layover in Frankfurt, so it will be about a five-hour trip.”
Lara snorts, folding a pair of jeans. “And we’ll probably have a crying baby beside us and a mystery stain on the armrest.”
“Won’t have that on the private jet,” I say with a waggle of my eyebrows. “And it will take us just over an hour. We’ll sip on wine and have a cheese plate.”
“Very bougie,” she hums with a laugh. “Fine. I’ll fly private. Twist my arm.”
I grin and return to my closet, grabbing a few more shirts and a pair of sneakers. Lara quietly folds and I sense a shift. She’s done nothing out of the ordinary, and yet I can tell something heavy is weighing on her.
Without thought, I dump the garments on the bed and take Lara’s hand. I pull free a blue Henley from her hand, toss it on the pile of other clothes and then pull her down onto the mattress so we’re sitting side by side. “I can tell something’s wrong that has nothing to do with how much money I make.”
Her eyes lighten and she smiles. “I should be freaked out that you know me so well, but I’m not. I called my mum earlier.”
“All good back home?” I lace my fingers with hers, rest them on the bed between us.
“Yeah. It was a nice talk, but in the end, she told me I needed to stop putting things off. That no one could move forward—not me, not Lance, not our families—until I handled things with him.”
My spine stiffens slightly, and I angle toward her. “You called him.”
It’s not a question.
She nods. “This afternoon.”
Not sure why my heart is suddenly racing, but I can’t ignore the fact I am somewhat fearful. “How’d it go?”
She exhales, eyes on her hands. “Better than I expected. He apologized. Said he’s going to start therapy. Said all the right things. But…”
My stomach drops. He’s going to try to get her back? “But?” I push.
Her eyes lock with mine. “But it’s over. I told him that very clearly. I didn’t sugarcoat it.”
Relief swells through me, even if it’s tempered with caution. “And he accepted that?”
She hesitates. “He asked to see me. Said he’d be in Torquay in two days and wanted one last conversation. In person.”
I go still. My jaw ticks and I have to restrain myself from demanding that she never go see him, but I also know that’s not my place. Lara is her own person.
Her fingers squeeze mine and her smile is gentle. “I know you don’t like it but I’m going to have to see him sometime. We need that face-to-face so he understands it’s really over.”
“But not now,” I guess.
Shaking her head, she sighs before pushing off the bed and returning to the clothes. “No, I’m not going to Torquay. I’m committed to going to Suzuka with you, but probably after that, I’ll head back and handle it.”
I scrub a hand through my hair, pushing down the knot of dread in my chest. I don’t want her going to Torquay. I want her to stay with me in our little bubble that’s insulated from the mess of my brother.
“How did you leave it with him?” I ask.
